


Nothing But the Rain

by InOmniaParatus



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Epistolary, M/M, Romance, Shota, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InOmniaParatus/pseuds/InOmniaParatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Hart is Galahad, an intergalactic spy. He's sent aboard a luxury space cruise to stop an ecoterrorist from blowing it all to hell.<br/>There's only one problem: Harry fails and winds up stranded alone on the broken ship with a curious 7 year old boy named Eggsy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But the Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maxamori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxamori/gifts).



> The title comes from Battlestar Galactica, which featured (in one episode) a luxury ship called the Cloud 9 that served as one of the inspirations for the ship here. 
> 
> Huge shout out to Freebird, who helped me with this A LOT as beta/cheerleader/sounding board. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, Max! <3

From the Personal Mission Logs of Agent Galahad.

**Day 1**

There is a bomb on the ship.

It seems that an organisation of ecoterrorists led by philantropist Richmond Valentine has an issue with the form of fuel that HMS Pecunia uses.  I find I don’t particularly disagree with their stance--After all, the mining of the myrddin crystals is completely destroying the planets they’re harvested on and the mines caving in have caused untold deaths.

I do, however, disagree with the whole killing-innocent-civilians portion of their plan.

According to the mission brief, Kingsman believes that detonation will occur as we approach Ganymede 3, the cruiser’s second-to-last destination. This means that I have just eighteen days to find and neutralise the bomb on a 900,000 square meter vessel.

**Day 5**

I have a tail.

I realise I should be more concerned about it. It wouldn’t be the first time children were used in warfare, nor will it be the last.

This one doesn’t have the air of professionalism about him, however. He’s much too obvious, much too curious, much too innocent-looking.

He’s no more than seven, I’d say, and dressed in the same faded khaki as the on-board servants. Just a curious child?

I expect he’ll tire of following me about in short enough order. If not, I’ll have to confront him and send him on his way.

I cannot afford to be distracted by pretty little boys.

**Day 8**

All residential cabins have been searched. No findings.

I began a search of the kitchens this afternoon, but the only thing I managed to find the curious boy who’s been following me; he was being admonished by one of the staff for trying to nick extra food.

This is a regular occurrence, if the staff member’s exasperation is anything to go by. She called him by name—Eggsy—and sent him off with a bag filled with fruit.

I can’t blame her. If he’d turned those cherubic cheeks and quivering bottom lip towards me, I’d have given him every bite of food aboard the ship.

**Day 12**

This is getting a bit ridiculous, now. We dock at Ganymede 3 in less than a week, and I still haven’t found the bloody bomb.

I have searched the entire ship, apart from the cargo hold and the night club.

I have lost control of the situation. I spend more time wondering how far the boy would follow me—how alone we could be—than I do thinking about my mission.

I need to focus, but I can’t. My mind wanders when I’m not with him—He’s a curious boy, would he like magic tricks? Would he like, perhaps, a private magic show?—and when I am, I watch him more than anything else.

This morning was the worst yet. I was searching the arboretum and there he was, climbing trees as swiftly and as gracefully as any monkey. He swung from limb to limb, his shirt hiked up to reveal the pale skin of his tiny waist.

I was all but hypnotised, watching him. He knew it, too, the cheeky show off. He did flips. Flips, for Christ’s sake.

I will search the nightclub tonight. If I’m lucky, the bomb will have been there all along. If not, perhaps a handsome young man will distract me from my distraction and I can turn my attention to where it belongs—my mission.

**Day 15**

I have failed. I have failed and things have gone tits up in the most spectacular way.

To start, there was no bomb. A foreign chemical—possibly saccaride-based—was found in the fuel line, after it caused a ship-lurching explosion in the engine room. The HMS Pecunia is scrap. So says the captain’s log.

I, of course, was nowhere near the engines when this happened. I was in the cargo hold, miserably pretending that I couldn’t see Eggsy leaping from container to container above me.

The ship rocked and I fell, knocking myself out in the process. I was out for just over 36 hours.

It was, I think, the PA system that finally woke me, calling all remaining passengers to their “safety pods” for departure in fifteen minutes. It was excellent timing, really, because it would have only taken me ten to get to the upper decks, maybe two or three more to locate an escape pod with an empty seat.

I could be on my way home now, or at least to another serviceable planet with a communications system that would allow me to ask Merlin what the hell was wrong with the intelligence in my mission brief.

But of course, the second I hauled my sorry arse up to leave, I heard the whimper. It only took a few seconds to find Eggsy, boxed in by a jumble of crates and debris, but it took 45 desolate minutes to free him.

I need to think, to come up with a viable plan of action.

But immediate needs must be met first. We need food, I need paracetamol, and the boy needs to change into something that doesn’t smell of urine.

Then I will have to do something about all of the bodies left behind.

**Day 16**

Eggsy’s mother is dead.

I made him wait in the corridor while I checked—there seemed to be more casualties below deck where it was more crowded and, frankly, I simply had a bad feeling about it.

He doesn’t know. And I’m not going to tell him. I’m wrong to lie, I realise, but I simply cannot cope with a grieving child on top of dealing with the fact that we're floating aimlessly into the vacuum of space, and it’s kinder to let Eggsy hope that his mother will send search and rescue after them once the escape pods land.

Which, to be fair, may actually happen. Not the mother, obviously, but  _ someone. _ Merlin, perhaps, or simply anxious aristocrats eager to be reunited with their precious cargo. But it’ll take weeks for the pods to reach Ganymede 3. Who knows how far they’ll drift in the meantime, what we could crash into.

In any case, the decision is made. The mother’s body has been stuffed under the bunk, out of sight, and Eggsy’s been told his mum must be on her way to safety, worried sick about him.

He’s taking it well, all things considered. Better than I am, at any rate. I’m too old for this sort of calamity and too weak for this sort of temptation.

**Day 19**

The last of the bodies have been relocated to the airlock chute. I think I’ve pulled a muscle in my back.

**Day 20**

I have  _ definitely _ pulled a muscle in my back.

**Day 21**

I want it to be known that I am  _ trying _ . I am making every attempt to behave myself—for the boy’s sake as much as for the possibility that we’ll be rescued. It’d be a fine thing to have the bloody cavalry arrive only to be shoved out of an airlock when Eggsy gives them an earful of what we’ve been up to since the crash. No, that’s too much of a risk.

But.

But he joined me in the jacuzzi, for goodness sake. The  _ jacuzzi _ .

I, for once, had no ulterior motives, no schemes. I simply wanted to work out the stiffness in my back, but it took only moments before all I could think of was stiffness elsewhere.

All I can think of is how lovely his bare skin was—damp and flushed pink from the heat—and how he would’ve been none the wiser if I’d have  touched myself then.

**Day 29**

Eggsy has decided he does not like the name  _ Pecunia _ . He says it’s far too posh and that, since it’s just the two of us now, we ought to name it for ourselves. He’s currently trying out different combinations of our names. 

Thus far, they’re all ridiculous. 

**Day 36**

The days have started to blur together, now. I’ve stopped checking the navigation—which tracks, but cannot guide, the useless thing. We’ve veered so hopelessly off course.

I imagine they’ve already had their trite little toast and are scouring the upper galaxy for a suitably pretentious replacement.

I hate them. I hate them all, just now. Valentine for his damn plot, the Captain for not conducting a thorough search, Arthur for abandoning me out here, and whoever the newest Galahad shall be, simply for existing. I hate everyone in the galaxy, really—apart from the boy.

So I’ve been focusing on training Eggsy. I’ve taken to teaching him some hand-to-hand combat skills, for want of something productive to do. We’ve been all over the ship—climbed the rock wall, soaked ourselves in mud at the spa, done hundreds of laps in the pool. It’s a beautiful ship with enough activities to keep hundreds of people entertained for months, but I find myself bored.

He’s a fast learner, Eggsy is. He’d make an extraordinary Kingsman. A finer Galahad than whichever imbecile Bors intends to drag in, for damned certain.

**Day 41**

He’s started having nightmares. I suspect he saw corpses through a window when I got rid of them, but he won’t admit it.

He comes to me, when he wakes. He slips under the covers and burrows himself in my arms. He presses his little body against mine and sleeps like an angel.

I don’t sleep.

**Day 42**

He’s like a magnet, pulling me in. He’s so affectionate, so tactile, and he looks at me with such open adoration that he’s almost impossible to resist.

I touched him last night—just a little, whisper-soft—while he slept. His pyjama shirt had ridden up and was bunched around his underarms. The way he was laying on his stomach exposed all the creamy, pale skin of his back. I was reaching out almost before I realised it.

His skin is so soft, like cashmere, and the dip of his spine was made for my fingertips to trace.

I kept expecting Eggsy to awaken and be frightened, disgusted, confused, but he only hummed a bit and snuggled deeper into the pillow.

**Day 51**

Now that I know what it feels like to touch him, I can’t bring myself to stop.

Eggsy’s noticed, I know he has. He’s within easy reach at all times—not because I asked him to be or because I keep him there. He’s close to me, all of his own accord. Smiling. Laughing. Hugging. Crawling into my lap for a cuddle, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I can’t figure it out. Does he realise? Is he just love-starved? Is it me or would anyone do?

**Day 52**

I’ve disabled and erased the CCTV for all timestamps after the engine failure.

**Day 64**

He kissed me, on the mouth.

We were messing about in the VR room, playing some racing car game I don’t quite understand but Eggsy loves. He won, of course, and tore off his gear for a victory dance I’d call poor sportsmanship if it wasn’t so adorable.

I pulled him down into my chair and tickled the smugness out of him—rather, I tried to. I had him writhing on my lap, pink and giggling to the point of breathlessness.

“Stop, stop!” he said. “I’m gonna wet myself!”

I stopped, of course, and rested my hand on his chest, savouring the signs of his exhilaration—the racing heartbeat, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing.

After a while, once he’d calmed, Eggsy sat up. He smiled that beautiful, beatific smile at me and said “I’m glad you’re here with me, Harry.”

And then he smashed his lips to mine.

He pulled away quickly, apprehension playing over his soft features, as though he expected me to scold him.

I felt as though the universe had stopped, as though these last few moments had happened in between one heartbeat and the next, as though it were a wet dream I was about to wake up from.

I cradled his chubby, rosy cheek in my palm and lowered my mouth to his.

It was a perfect, gentle kiss that I will remember until the day I die.

**Day 68**

An asteroid hit the ship, punching a hole through the staff quarters on the starboard side. I’d be aghast that the ship would put an impact-activated seal in the staff area of the ship if it hadn’t just saved our lives. I checked, too—the only other automatic seal leads to the cargo hold.

We’re a bit shaken up, Eggsy in particular. The suspicion that if it had happened during any regular voyage, he and his mother would be dead and the realisation that if it happened to, say, the ballroom now,  _ we _ would be dead...It’s a lot for someone so young to process, that sort of looming threat.

For my part, I’m starting to realise how precious and fleeting our time aboard this ship is. We’re living in the lap of luxury—and we have it all to ourselves. There’s no expectations, no social pressures aside from the ones we place upon ourselves. The world we live in, here and now, is very nearly Heaven.

Also, there is a silver lining to be found with the asteroid crash. Eggsy stumbling upon his mother’s corpse is no longer a possibility.

**Day 71**

Eggsy’s mood has not yet improved. I’m planning a marathon of spy films and a veritable mountain of ice cream to cheer him up.

**Day 85**

It’s been a relief to have Eggsy back to normal. Well, the new normal, at any rate. He’s back to being the effusive, enthusiastic boy who’s learnt that the best time to convince me to do something outlandish is while he’s sat on my lap, wriggling and breathless from my kisses.

Slightly related: We are now draining the smaller swimming pool for use as a skatepark.

**Day 87**

He’s sprained his ankle. No prizes for guessing how. He’s in a strop about being confined to bed, but without a doctor to  _ completely _ rule out a fracture, I’m not taking any chances.

**Day 91**

I carried my cranky little companion to the arboretum this morning for a picnic. He’s been unbearable and I admit I’ve been desperate to put the smile back on his face.

I settled him down on the grass with cider and a cheese plate, then went in search of the control system. I’d seen them turn off the artificial sky on one of my first evenings on board.

It took a bit longer than I’d hoped, but the controls were easy enough to navigate once I’d found them and I was able to rejoin Eggsy before the window screens even finished powering down.

The stars were beyond beautiful. The colourful, swirling nebulae were a more vibrant light show than anything I’ve ever seen before. And Eggsy…his whole face just lit up with it.

I found myself watching him instead, propped up on my side. I rested my free hand on his stomach. I love his tummy, love how my hand covers it almost entirely. He’s so small, my Eggsy. Even for his age, he’s tiny.

I adore that about him, if I’m being honest. I love stretching my fingers around his narrow hips and imagining holding onto them as he bounces on my cock.

It’s something I’ve been thinking about lately. Well, thinking about it  _ more. _ It’s never been far from my thoughts, not since I first noticed him, following me about in that absurd khaki outfit, and certainly not now that I can kiss his lips and touch his skin.

I think I’ve been hard half the week. It’s maddening.

I began to rub small, soothing circles on his stomach, letting them grow wider at Eggsy’s contented hum. My fingertips brushed against the waistband of his shorts and away to his navel again. When they flitted back downwards, I let them creep, just slightly, between the elastic and his warm skin.

With bated breath, I dragged my gaze up to his face, expecting to see hesitance, anxiety, reluctance. Instead, he was looking up at me, face flushed, eyes bright and eager.

I kissed him then, and slid my hand lower. He gasped into my mouth when I touched his hard little cock and arched into my hand when I grasped it between my fingers.

I rather lost myself in the moment from there. All of my sensory experience condensed into snapshots of pure, undiluted pleasure.

Dragging my lips down the ticklish column of his throat.

Tugging his shorts off to reveal his lovely, stiff cocklet.

Wrapping my lips around it.

The surprised  _ oh oh oh _ of his orgasm.

Hovering over his small body like a blanket, like a safe haven.

The intense, incredible press of his thighs around my own prick.

The boneless, tangled pile we fell into, spent.

**Day 98**

I wonder, sometimes, if I died when the engines failed, if this drifting purgatory we’re on is truly some sort of reward for the good I’ve done throughout the universe as Galahad. Other times, I wonder if it’s punishment, and the boy is a consolation prize. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

In the end, all I care about is Eggsy’s happiness and my own.

And I…I am happier now than I have ever been. I am content to spend the rest of my life, however long that may be, on the HMS Hartwin. 

  
  



End file.
